


Misc Splat One-shots

by absol_lnk



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Backstory, But she respawns, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied Drug Abuse, Light Angst, Major character death - Freeform, Octo Expansion DLC, One Shot Collection, POV Second Person, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, but it's not mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-16 01:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absol_lnk/pseuds/absol_lnk
Summary: Four struggles to deal with Three after the events of the metro demolish her mental state.





	1. 1- Dedf1sh

You're still here.

...That can't be right.

You were sufficient, which meant you were supposed to be Sanitized.

Being Sanitized means losing your free will, it told you. But you are still thinking. Although, something doesn't seem quite right.

You look down at your body. You aren't clothed, but, oddly, you don't care. More concerning is how your body has shifted to the lifeless, cold, teal and blue colors. That's how Sanitized soldiers are described in the rumors.

If you are Sanitized, you shouldn't be thinking. However, you are- although, it does feel…  _ mechanical. _

You take a look around your surroundings, and your movements feel robotic. It's dimly lit, faint glows coming from seemingly random places. That's normal, you can still recall. Not the stiffness in your joints, though.

What are not normal are the pods surrounding you. They all have seemingly someone inside. Some look like what you think you look like, almost normal. Only the skin tone really suggesting something isn't normal.

There is a constant buzzing and faint, yet deafening cacophony of ticking and beeping and bubbling. For a moment, you sit there and try to piece together a pattern, anything that would suggest that it was not random. But there was no connection, no sequence. You are lucky you managed to stop focusing on it, because you hate it.

As you look further, though, the… subjects, you don't know what else to call them, started to look more deteriorated.

You notice that there are 2 types of pods; the ones you were in, and the ones littered with blades.  _ Blenders, _ you can still recall.

The subjects in the Blender pods are partially dissected, the blending clearly not being a quick process like you were told in the past.

At a loss of what else to do, you try and read some labels, find some signs. You want to gather some information. Maybe your logical approach is why you were selected for Sanitization. Maybe your logical approach is a result of the Sanitization.

On a Blender pod, one which had such thick liquid, you couldn't see the contents:

_ Octarian Id: F-13-2-47-19-A _

_ Blend period: 1701X-17-4/1701X-22-8 _

_ A strong subject. Young, but wicked smart. Will be a great addition to Commander TarTar's Primordial Ooze. _

On another blender pod, one with a girl's mostly dismembered body floating about inside:

_ Octarian Id: F-22-3-7-54-S _

_ Blend period: 1701X-30-7/1701X-3-12 _

_ Fantastic physical stats. She alone should increase the performance and lifespan of all Sanitized soldiers, just a little bit.  _

On a normal pod like yours, a girl is surrounded by a strange, glowing-green substance latching onto her skin, which still had some natural color left. Thinking back, the same substance was covering you when you came out of your pod. The label on this one reads:

_ Id: 6-22-F _

_ Was a decent footsoldier, reports showed. Decent enough to Sanitize, but she barely made the cut. We had to add a little extra Ooze to make sure she remained sufficient. _

Once you put the pieces together, your body tries to vomit, but nothing comes out. It is dry, grating. The noise you made- you are sure it is one of the worst noises you have ever heard. Your voice is metallic, scratchy, monotone, lifeless. You do not want to hear it again. You wonder how many bodily fluids you have left.

You want to get out. You don't care about your own shattered pod. You want to get out. There is a door at the end of the chamber. You test it, and it is unlocked.

The room you enter has more lights, but it is not much brighter. It is littered with scientists, doctors and engineers, hunched over their things, all wearing masks covering their noses and mouths. When you walk in, they look at you.

You are suddenly conscious of your naked body again, but you do not do anything about it. If anything, it should make these people feel pity for you. You hope.

They don't. They stare at you like a monster. Is it because you are? You were meant to become a mindless supersoldier. They do not look scared, though; they look disgusted. You feel disgusting and you feel disgusted. Disgusted at yourself, and disgusted at these people.

You want to yell. You want to scream. You don't know how much of it is natural. Somehow, you make yourself speak calmly.

"What happened?" You rasp. Each syllable burns your throat. They must be just as sharp and pointy as they sound.

A doctor raises a weapon of some kind and points it at you. You suddenly feel completely drained, like taking a single step would cause you to collapse; nevermind winning a fight. With nothing else to do, you idly wait for her to pull the trigger. Something sharp lands in your chest. You don't bleed. You feel your consciousness fading away. Hopefully you stay dead this time.

  
  
  
  
  
  


You wake up. It is now that you realize that you are not going to get what you want in this life.

In front of you, behind a desk, is the Telephone. You have seen it in propaganda everywhere. It supposedly runs everything, all on its own.

You  _ hate _ it. This is the strongest emotion you have felt since coming out of that pod, and possibly for longer than that.

"Hello," its voicebox spat out. "Looks like you defected."

You do not know what to say, so you remain silent.

Its pupils appear to shift, refocus. "Why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

"I am not the one running this operation," you croak, toneless.

“Why did you defect?” it says, its voice even worse than yours. “You’re only making things harder on yourself.”

You could easily counter by saying you were not in control, but instead you say, “Because fuck you.” You are going to die.

It stays silent for a moment, then says, “What do you want to do, then?”

You think back to the pod chamber. How long ago was that? Hours? Weeks? You are sure your internal clock does not work anymore.

You remember how much you hated it, and how simple it could potentially be to fix. The opposite of harsh random noise is music… most of the time. You could try that. Making.. Music.

“Let me write music,” you demand. “This place hurts my ears.”

“Sure,” it says immediately. “Go to the ward, figure out if you can still eat. Ask a C. Q. for instructions. Come back here in a week, I’ll have your tools ready.”

“...Where am I?”

“Oh. The Kamabo HQ. A little bit of everything happens here. There’s maps on most walls. You better be able to read.”

  
  
  
  
  


Eating is.. Completely different. For several reasons.

Instead of nutrition blocks, there are these… you do not really know how to describe them. You think they should taste a lot better than the blocks, but it is counteracted by the buzzing numbness in your mouth. You can taste so little of it, it might as well still be nutrition blocks. You know you will no longer look forward to eating. 

You are starting to get used to the staring. It is justified, you reason. You have not seen anyone else like yourself, a Defected. Nobody else has mechanical movements or green skin. And you probably should have asked the Telephone for clothes. You feel like you should be cold, but you cannot seem to grasp the feeling of temperature anymore. It is frustrating, but at least you are not cold.

After seven days, you go back to the room you met the Telephone in. It is still there. How could it have moved, anyway?

On the desk is a laptop and a set of clothes. “Figure it out,” the Telephone says. “Get out of here before I [ERROR: SLANG NOT FOUND].”


	2. 2- Last Resort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four struggles to deal with Three after the events of the metro demolish her mental state.

It’s 10:19 p.m. Maya called Ivy. The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

And then it went to voicemail. Ivy doesn't read her voicemails. She tried again.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then it was silent.

The phone rang… and then she picked up.

Maya prayed against all odds that what Marie told her was some elaborate, sickening joke. That she hadn't realized she'd pulled a string within Maya, driving her mad since she'd said it. She hoped. She shouldn't have hoped.

She didn't speak. She was waiting on Maya to start.

She chose each word carefully. "Are you there?"

"Yeah." Her voice was even scratchier than usual. It was confirmation. It hurt.

"Are you there… mentally?"

Her lack of an answer told Maya everything she needed to know.

"Marie told me what happened," she started. "I… don't know how any of it works and I don't know what it did to you. All I know is that it's bad. If you want to talk, please,  please talk to me."

"I'm okay," Ivy said, and if she hadn't known better, Maya would've thought it was a computer talking.

“You’re scaring me,” she said tentatively.

“Sorry.”

“Wait, no no no, you’re the victim, not me, don’t be sorry…”  God, why am I so bad at this..

The both of them just sat there on the line for a minute, trying to think of anything to say. Then Ivy spoke again.

“You’re Agent 4, now?”

“Um, yeah, what about it?”

No reply.

“Listen, I’m heading over to your place tomorrow. Okay?”

No reply.

“Bye… Ivy.”

Shu hung up before Four could and she tried to repress the urge to cry as she fell asleep.

  
  
  
  
  


Her apartment. Maya’s standing in front of the door, trying to account for everything that could happen in advance. She feels like she’s on the brink of exploding, one way or another.

Marie asked her to leave Three alone for a few days. So did Callie, and especially the Cap’n. Four couldn’t. Ivy’s your best friend. Is? Was? Doesn’t matter. She needs you.  Don’t start crying yet, Maya.

She doesn’t hear anything inside. She knocks, and nothing happens for a few seconds. Then there’s unintelligible mumbling, and the door swings open.

The apartment reeks more than Four remembers it. It smells like sweat and rot.

It’s an Octoling. In Ivy’s apartment, wearing Ivy’s clothes. The only reason Four doesn’t snap at her on the spot is because she looks scared. Scared of what, she doesn't know.

“Who are you?” Four demands.

“Eight,” it mumbles feebly, unsure of itself.

“Where’s Ivy?”

“Um… Three?”

“Yes. Where is she?”

“Inside, but…” She pulls a crumpled note from her pocket and presents it to Four. In messy, erratic pen-

You must be a visitor.

Unless you’re food delivery, then fuck off.

She rereads it a few times and regains her composure. “I’m food delivery,” she tells the Octoling.

Wearily, she moves out of the way.

When Four steps inside, her brain can’t decide whether or not she should feel bad, but right now, the Octoling doesn’t matter. She has to talk to Ivy.

Four checks her room first. She always liked to hide out in it.

Four opens Ivy’s door and the smell of sweat is amplified and the smell of blood is added. She’s lucky she has a strong stomach. The carpet is sticky and littered with used and stained bandages. Her bed lacks sheets and pillows- all it has is a single blanket. Both it and the mattress are speckled with blood.

Ivy is laying there, facing away from Four. She doesn't react when she opens the door.

"Ivy?" Four calls. She doesn't respond. Four hates when she pretends to be asleep, but she never really told her.

“Are you awake?” Four asks. “I told you I’d be coming yesterday.”

“Hi,” she finally responds, voice still grated and raw.

“When was the last time you ate?” Four asks.

“I don’t remember.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

No response.

“Tell me what happened,” begs Four, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Please.”

Three turns to look at her, revealing that the entire right side of her face is wrapped in layers and layers of bandages, from her ear to her eye.

“Short or long version?” Ivy asks after some hesitation.

“Whatever’s easiest for you,” Four says, bracing yourself.

She hesitated again, and then started. “I was investigating disappearances with the captain. I got separated from the captain and ran into a soldier. She was tough. She wanted me dead. I could see it in her moves. But eventually, I had her cornered. Then some guy in a hazmat suit comes out and sprays some gas over us that knocks both of us out.

“I wake up in a dark laboratory with a window to the left and right of me. I’m strapped to an upright sheet of metal with no way to get out. I tried. I sat there for what felt like a couple days before something happened.” She interrupted herself with a small coughing fit.

“Someone in a similar suit comes in with a vial of this glowing green stuff I later learn is called Primordial Ooze. He never talked to me. He unscrews the vial and just dumps the stuff all over my face.

“It fucking burned. It hurt more than anything physical I can remember, and the pain just wouldn’t stop. It felt alive. 

“After maybe a minute, they use a paint scraper to pry it off of my face because it stuck. I screamed. It hurt so bad, screaming was all I could do.” Four feels terrible, but she can’t interrupt.

“They leave me there for a few more days until I finally get some food. Then nothing for a couple more days, and then the Ooze again, and this repeats over and over for what felt like a month.

“The worst part is that the sludge somehow hurt more every time. At one point I managed to catch my reflection on the vial. The skin on my face is fucking raw. My ear is in shreds, my skin is a disgusting mix of the Ooze’s green and my orange. That time, I cried once the screaming was done..

“Each time they put that shit on my face, I lost more and more control over my own body. I just sat and watched, basically paralyzed, as they did whatever they wanted.” She looks ashamed, which is absolutely the last thing she should be. Four’s going to kill someone. She keeps her cool for now.

“At one point, they unshackle my hands and wrists. The skin is raw there-” she shows you her flayed wrists to prove it- “and I make a mad dash toward the window and hurl all of my weight at it with all the strength I have left.” She takes a shaky breath and continued, “I tried to kill myself. I tried. If I died, I would’ve stayed dead. They took out my respawn chip. I just- wanted it to end.”

She looks for Four’s reaction, but she’s stunned. She hates herself for not knowing what to say. She hates the world for being so cruel.

Ivy continues. “I fall through a glass ceiling and land on a giant blender, which knocks me out. Apparently the captain and the soldier from earlier were both trapped in that blender and I saved them from being turned into the Ooze, somehow.

“I wake up on a floating platform and the pain on my face is unbearable. If I had control over my body, I would have done everything in my power to finish myself off. But I didn’t. The Ooze did.

“It forced me to fight the soldier again, but she didn’t deserve it. I knew that she had her memory wiped and had to escape that hell by completing false tests and eventually just breaking out. She wasn’t fighting for the Octarian army anymore, she was fighting for freedom. And here I was, trying to bring her down.

“It only moved the parts of my body that it needed to, the rest hanging limp. For the first time, I tried to fight its control. I tried to resist it. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even scream anymore. I felt like I was going to explode with the pain.

"No matter how hard I tried, no matter how loud the buzzing in my ears got, I couldn't stop myself. I was helpless to watch as I tried to murder an innocent.

"Luckily, somehow, by cruel fate finally having mercy on me, she won. She ripped the stuff off my face and I collapsed from the pain.

"Next thing I know, half my head is covered in bandages, I'm sitting in a helicopter, and the soldier supposedly saved the whole city. And then I got brought back here a few days ago."

You're at a total loss for words, so you ask the easy questions. "Is the Octoling out there this soldier?"

"Yeah."

"...does it still hurt?"

"Six painkillers a day, baby." Oh- oh,  nooo.

“Um, let’s go out and get som-”

“NO!” she shouts, startling you. “Can’t go in public.”

“Why?”

The shame that filled her face was an answer enough.

“Listen, I’m gonna get you some groceries, ok?”

No response.

Four leans over to hug her in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “Take care of yourself,” she says. “Please.”

  
  
  


Two Months Later

  
  
  


9:19 p.m. Ivy hasn’t been answering Four’s calls or responding to her texts for a few weeks now. Four should’ve gone to check on her more often. She shouldn’t have let her go. It doesn’t matter what’s wrong. It’s her fault. Four’s fault.

The apartment. Sounds just as empty as before. Four knocks faster than she intended.

The Octoling, Eight, answers. “Hey, Four.” She’s starting to get a grip on Inkling.

“Where’s Ivy?” you ask once again.

“She said she was heading out.”

“For what?”

“Painkillers.”

  
  
  


Four flew back down all the flights of stairs and jumped back onto the bike which she came and pedaled as fast as it would let her. Marie showed Four how to track people’s phones, and Ivy’s was heading to the nearest MakoMart. It had a pharmacy.

Determined to cut her off, brella on hand, Four cut through alleys and across roads without ever considering the law. Four was gaining on her. Had to be.

Four swerved onto the street which the store branched off of, almost losing her balance. Ivy’s car was a couple dozen yards ahead. Still time. Still a chance.

Ivy turned into the parking lot and Four cut a corner through some planters to catch up. She made a full speed dash for the store’s entrances. Ivy’s a few yards away.

“Ivy!” Four shouts, swerving ahead of her and cutting her off. She drops the bike, panting. “Wait.”

Ivy looks at her, eyes cold, unflinching.

“We talked about this,” Four says. “Please. You made a promise. We had a deal!”

“I’m sorry,” says Ivy, but she doesn’t look keen on turning back.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

Ivy sighed. “Yeah.”

“You have to stop!” Four shouts. “You said you weren’t suicidal anymore, but look at what you’re doing right here!”

Four pushed a wrong button. “Move,” demands Ivy, voice low and no longer apologetic.

“ NO! ” screams Four, trembling hands curling around her brella. “I can’t let you do this to yourself!”

Ivy steps forward and Four raises the brella at her. “Do you know what you’re doing to yourself?” Four asks. “Or what you’re doing to  me? ”

Ivy doesn’t stop. Her cuts, bruises and scars stand out in the yellow streetlamp, and her mantle flares with erratic ripples of red.

Four tackles her, bringing them both to the ground. Ivy doesn’t struggle. She knows she’s too weak to overpower Four.

“I’m trying to help you!” Four yells/sobs. “Why won’t you let me?”

Ivy doesn’t respond.

“Promise me to stop,” Four begs, brella pointed at Ivy’s forehead. “Promise me you’ll turn around and leave.”

For a moment, she seems to consider it. Then, she makes a decision. Her tentacles pulsate blue and her face falls.

“I… can’t.”

All the work Four put into not crying goes to waste as her little remaining hope vanishes.

“ IVY! ” Four pleads against nothing, voice ugly and riddled with tears, staining Ivy’s shirt and face. “ PLEASE! ”

“I’m sorr-”

“ You’re not! ” Four interrupts, and Ivy’s eyes start to water as well. “If you  were , you would’ve  left  already!”

Here Maya is, leaning over Ivy on a parking lot in the middle of the night, crying her eyes out, brella aimed at her head.

She didn’t want to pull the trigger.

She really didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah woo yeah I'm sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah the ending was lame but I couldn't think of how to continue it


End file.
